


You Won't Be Young Forever

by slightlyjillian



Series: By Your Side [11]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-EW. Another year after the war goes by, so they celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Won't Be Young Forever

**Author's Note:**

> -companion to the By Your Side series by Alithea

"Are you going to go home with him?" Trowa asked, easily knocking in the last billiard ball before grabbing his drink for a final swallow.

Nichol had been avoiding the question all evening. "I haven't decided yet."

***

The person in the mirror was not who Nichol was expecting. He splashed his face again, wishing the greying stubble would just wash away. No luck.

He would blame stress. And his heritage. As long as Trowa didn't see him before a shave, then the secret should be safe. Not that Nichol had been very good at ever keeping secrets from Trowa Barton. Perhaps the cosmic joke was that they could see right through each other's shit and call it by name.

Maybe the grey had started when the Earth Sphere Unified Nation had stuck him in hellhole prison or when the L3 X-18999 mission had abruptly ended. He looked at where his hands gripped the sink. Familiar hands, but what had they looked like during that year with Miles Peterson? Not so long ago, but a completely different lifetime.

The pink electric razor was a _gift_ from when Trowa figured out they'd been friends long enough for Nichol's birthday to slip by unnoticed. Nichol hadn't been able to afford better, so he kept it.

Besides, it wasn't like his life hadn't been handed fresh bouquets from the crazy side of fate over and over again. A girlish razor was the least of his worries.

He'd tried to stay off the radar, but old grudges had a way of punching a guy in the gut. Or the ribs. Once he'd crawled into the ER wondering if he was even capable of producing an heir.

That was a complicated subject, working equipment or not.

Not that he'd had any shortage of interest after Une's well aimed throw dunking Nichol into the wet splash of publicity. Sure, he'd earned a fair break and a few more friends. Those who disliked him just disliked him and Nichol had nearly perfect immunity to _nasty stares_. He'd learned that defense mechanism in military school.

He unplugged the cord and dropped the pink razor in a nearby bucket that he qualified as 'proper storage.' It wasn't as if he'd taken up any of those offers. He never brought anyone into his home. That was... too personal.

Nichol didn't share his space easily.

***

"You're not fooling me." Trowa reluctantly reset the table. It was another delay. Nichol had made a scene about wanting to win back his twenty. A fraud move. Nichol didn't care about cash. Even if Nichol were flat broke he'd little invested in the things he had to buy.

Nichol shrugged, scratching at his cheek.

***

"I've figured you out." Trowa had found Nichol in the Preventer mobile suit storage hanger. The taller man wore his visitor badge, but instead of clipping it high had snapped it onto the bottom of his layered t-shirts.

"How so?" Nichol had been under the doll's foot, back on the floor. Nichol had told Trowa how the days went by much more quickly since he got to pick his own assignments. Refitting the mobile dolls for agricultural work for the farmers in the new Terra mission had been his second choice. Exactly because his first choice had only taken six weeks to complete. Une had accepted the result and had said, frankly, "Slow down."

"Your birthday." Trowa kicked Nichol's boot. "So, if the question was... this is the last day on Earth."

Nichol pushed free from the space where he'd been working. Sitting up he snapped out his handkerchief before wiping the grime and sweat from his face. "On Earth?"

"Okay, the last day of the universe," Trowa amended. "What do you want to do?"

Nichol furrowed his brow, as if he might take the question seriously. Then he said, "Ricks."

Trowa considered pushing Nichol for a different answer, but he relented. It was entirely possible that if Nichol had been more honest, only one person could have satisfied.

***

"You need a bad influence in your life," Trowa glanced around the room from the booth he'd secured during their favorite bar's busiest hour. "Someone here has to fit the bill."

"I think you're doing a bang-up job, Barton," Nichol slurred more than he needed to but the alcohol was feeling good. When that happened, he went with it. While Trowa was searching for the girls, Nichol let his own gaze slip sideways. And up. A very tall man was standing by their booth.

"You're Agent Nichol?" he said, hesitating but not from uncertainty of that fact. Nichol was certain. He'd had to sign autographs whenever he used public transportation.

"That's the man," Trowa confirmed, turning back around. "Famous Nicky."

"You'd know," Nichol had scowled, unable to hide the affection. Trowa had been a stalwart friend even when things weren't good. "I'd be happy just to sift back into the mix, if I could make something worthwhile..." He cut off, suddenly remembering that it wasn't just the two of them.

The man had yet to introduce himself.

"Who are you?" Nichol said at last.

"Allen," he said. "My brother comes here sometimes and I thought I might find him. But... apparently, he's not here tonight. Then I saw you." He shifted his weight. "But I should let you guys..."

Trowa watched as Nichol immediately reached for his beer. Nichol watched the stranger, Allen, maneuver between bodies while scanning the crowd. Looking for his brother still.

"You have a type, Nichol," Trowa said, matter-of-fact.

"Excuse me?" Nichol sputtered, then wiped at the spit on the tabletop.

"Blondes with somewhat lengthier hair. Or maybe it's the big brother angle?" Trowa pushed his lips together studying the wallpaper. Nichol appreciated that when Trowa pressed a point, he didn't stare.

"I don't have a type," Nichol retorted. But he tipped his head when he saw Allen wave from across the room.

***

"Mixed signals." Trowa shook his head. "You are a bastard confusing a nice guy like that. Just tell him all you want is to hook up..."

Nichol stomped over and made a shushing motion with his finger. He reminded, "_My_ birthday."

"You're not getting any younger," Trowa said, his expression no longer playful. Then as if sensing his mistake, added, "Last day of the universe, remember?"

"Not even."

***

Trowa kept up his end of the conversation while the sisters surrounded him with their physical proximity and their constant chatter. They were interesting enough, but his attention continued to drift to the table he'd abandoned when Allen had circled around to their booth again.

Nichol's face was red, but it wasn't an angry flush. Something between intoxication and infatuation, Trowa hoped.

Allen was definitely interested which made Trowa feel a strange sort of jealousy. Not _for_ Nichol as much as the thought Nichol would have another option to be somewhere else and with someone else.

"Hey, there's Rick!" One of the sisters said abruptly. Trowa had met Rick before, but it was a bit of a novelty to find the reclusive owner in his own establishment during business hours. The women excused themselves and hurried over to the quickly forming crowd.

Trowa stayed where he was and watched as Allen tried to coax Nichol to the novelty. Nichol twisted his lip, probably explaining it wasn't something new.

"Wrong answer, Nichol," Trowa sighed. "You won't get anywhere if you don't go."

But that wasn't Nichol's problem really. The right person never got around to asking.

***

"Happy Birthday," Trowa said, reclaiming his seat. He didn't ask about Allen, which Nichol appreciated. Allen had been nice. Really... _nice_.

"Yeah, it's been okay," Nichol said at last. Then crossed his arms over the tabletop. "Listen, Trowa. I know that I've been a bastard to you now and again." Trowa raised his eyebrows. "And you're probably going to make me wish I'd never admitted this, but you gave me a chance. That's something I appreciate."

Nichol glanced at his watch. He said, "World ends in sixty seconds."

"Boom," Trowa supplied after a short silence. "Any regrets?"

Nichol laughed harder than he had in years. "How the hell should I know?"


End file.
